HD 'On the Magic in Movement'
by tigersilver
Summary: The Ministry is updating its Training Manuals and Aurors Potter and Malfoy are required to contribute to a special lesson devised by the aristocratic Lady Ipswich. Points awarded; Snape appalled; forward-thinking Muggle teaching methods discarded.


**HP **On the Magic in Movement

"…ladies and gentlewizards, these two fine Aurors, Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, have been kind enough to demonstrate certain of their attack and defense stances for us today. Please observe carefully the movements of each, as I'll be expecting you to tell us why I've chosen them specifically to be included in our updated ATS Manual."

Harry and Draco glanced at each other, an imperceptible signal passing between them, and continued to wait patiently for Madame Anastasia Karkaroff Ipswich to get on with things.

"As you know, physical movement has long been a crucial factor in the successful use of magic. The position and kinesthetic flow of the body literally telegraphs intent to an action's recipient and are often directly linked to success in some of the more difficult spells."

Her audience nodded, though a few lagged, still staggered by insufficient caffeine and the extreme earliness of the hour.

"You understand, then, that on the most basic of levels your corporeal body speaks for you and that this is not limited to wand movements or the use of the larger arm muscles?"

Another series of nods and vague sounds of understanding.

"Very good. Well, then, we shall immediately move on to the demonstration. Mr. Potter—"

Without glancing each other's way again, Harry and Draco stepped into their usual position, perfectly at ease and with the inherent grace of years of practice.

"—and Mr. Malfoy have just now provided us with their first – and most general – stance for assessing potentially unstable situations. Thank you, kind sirs. Class, if you will remain quiet for a moment's observation?"

From his position facing the half-sleepy, half-caffeinated gathering before them, Harry bobbed his mussy head and grinned in his well-known if somewhat self-deprecatory manner and then instantly composed himself once more, stilling into the steely Seeker Auror Potter of recent legend. Beside him, left hip angled forward and left arm presented, wand tilted to the ready, his lean body turned a sharp ninety degrees to Harry's, the inimitable Draco Malfoy also inclined his white-blond halo in pleasant greeting, though he never quite got so far as the actual smile.

Both men were clad in the austerely elegant charcoal-grey robes characteristic of the elite branch of Seeking Aurors, the one group that the august bodies of the Ministry and Wizamgot unanimously agreed were in possession of both the first-hand knowledge and the sheer magical firepower necessary to track down those tiny remnants of old-guard Death Eaters still in hiding across the world _and_, by association, were thus equally capable of quelling the disturbingly younger upstart Neo-Death Eaters who were foolish enough and passionate enough to perpetuate their more extreme forebears' folly. Neither wizard wore the even more severely styled maroon over-robes that completed their working uniforms, however, having left them off at Madame Ipswich's request so as not to impede this morning classes' scope of observation.

And both men were very attractive specimens, too, which went without saying, even if this particular audience wasn't comprised of adoring fans and spotted adolescent teenyboppers of both sexes and thus supposedly had no real reason to notice attributes of that nature. Malfoy and Potter had matured to fine young men in their mid-twenties, were established seven-year veterans of the Auror forces, and had been partnered from the very early days of Auror Training School (ATS) - by inclination, aptitude and Kingsley Shacklebolt's express wishes. All this was known and accepted. Even if it had not been, however, even most casual and uninformed of observers would note instantly that these two Aurors were more than comfortable with each other, their difficult and demanding avocation, and their present static position as the focus of every gaze in the classroom – literally, presented, as an object lesson to be learned.

Madame Ipswich cleared her throat genteelly after another minute ticked past and the eyes of the room swiveled back to her.

"Now, I'd like a volunteer to describe objectively what we're viewing at the moment, please. Estrellita? Yes? Go on, dear."

Estrellita Gambon had been an Auror for three years, and the most recent one had been spent interning in the illustrious company of the Potter-Malfoy/Grainger-Weasley Seeker unit. If all went well, she'd be partnered herself in the next twelve months or so and have her own apprentices to trudge after and lord it over within two years of that.

"Well," there was a hint of definite affection in the young witch's espresso-laced-with-fire whiskey contralto, as 'Essie, darling' was a very attractive person as well.

"Harry here is facing us, straight-on, with his wand in his right hand and at the 'ready' position. He's got his feet planted far enough apart so he won't lose his balance should someone rush him with a charged-up curse or even a physical attack. Draco is positioned at right angles to Harry, so if you drew a diagram—" and here Ms. Gabon brought up her wand and traced a trail of silvery sparks in the air—"it would look like this, ought-one." The symbol OI twinkled briefly above their heads and then winked out at as Estrellita continued.

"Draco's actually standing just like Harry is, or near enough, so he's balanced, too, but it doesn't look that way to us because of the angle. He's got his wand primed as well, but it's harder to see – again, that's because of the way we're looking at it. I would guess that the two of them are standing just about an arm's length apart, though I'm not sure if that's Harry's arm length or Draco's," – a few muffled giggles were heard near the back of the classroom and Madame glared – "which is a little longer, I'd wager. Both of them are breathing easily – very relaxed and yet very alert – and their eyes are always on us, the audience. All of us here _and_ the entrances and exits, mind you, which means they're constantly scanning the room for any changes or discrepancies. And I must say that's a _very _basic stance that all Aurors learn in the first few weeks of training, so there's really not a lot _complicated_ going on here. It's elementary."

In the very back of the room one red-headed senior Seeker Auror grinned to himself. This particular pose was one he'd seen Harry and Draco in a thousand, million times before and it was the one that suited them best, in his opinion. Ron Weasley wondered idly if anyone other than his wife-cum-best-friend-and-unit-partner Hermione would twig as to exactly why the Potter-Malfoy unit could make simply standing there seem so effortlessly impressive. Unbearably know-it-all young Auror-candidates aside, naturally.

"Thank you, Estrellita. That's not quite the unbiased report I expected, but then you are shortly to complete your internship with the Seekers, yes? I'm sure you must believe you know them all very well. A little levity can be forgiven, I suppose."

Suddenly feeling quite off-center, Estrellita nodded, a high spot of color blooming on each tanned cheek. Madame had the reputation as a bit of the _grande dame_ – a noted prima ballerina in her youth; the very upper echelon of landed Wizarding gentry after her marriage to Baron Gaspard Ipswich – but she'd always been nothing but kindness itself to the younger crowd of witches and wizards entering the Ministry's service. A reprimand, however gently couched, had been the last thing Essie expected when answering this question. And _no_, she was quite, quite positive she hadn't missed much in this particular picture, especially as there really just wasn't much there to see; simply Harry and Draco looking they always did, on the job and off.

"Anyone else? Perhaps someone who has spent a moment's reflection on the way Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy's current arrangement might be viewed by an unfriendly observer? Or perhaps we could benefit from the thoughts of one who is not personally acquainted with these gentlemen?"

Slowly a show of hands went up and Madame reviewed the host of potentials with a beady, assessing look in her twinkling black eyes. There was Stalward Greensleeve, Bart., active in service as Envoy to the Muggle UN. A well-spoken gentleman with a facile mind and likely only on barest nodding acquaintance with Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, though of course dear Draco knew absolutely everyone worth knowing even if his Harry did not. Right up front sat the irrepressible Rita Skeeter, lately emerged from semi-retirement so as not to miss the smallest opportunity to interview the famed Dynamic Duo of the Seeker Team…and dig for further disturbing details of their private lives. In the SRO area at the very back of the crowded Wizarding-space classroom were grouped the numerous and shuffling Auror-wannabes, those bright young things drawn to a career which they believed promised dollops of borrowed fame, a very decent pension and payscale and much elbow-rubbing with real-live celebrities such as the Golden Trio and Draco Malfoy, 'Spy for the Light'.

And all the while Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy stood there, patient and ready, their grey and green gazes steady on the crowd.

"Mr. Fortesque? If you please?" Madame made her choice of a middle-range Ministry accountant, a flunky-on-the-rise, who'd been assigned to the class for interdepartmental cross-training and likely had absolutely no interest at all in the actual mechanics of being an effective Auror. A nice man, all the same, and fond of iced buns. She'd known his second cousin Florian for positive ages – why, she'd practically teethed on his most excellent ice cream!

"Oh! Ah, me?" At Madame's sharp nod, Crampton Fortesque gathered himself, cleared his throat and spoke, his deep bass voice at startling odds with his narrow chest.

"Well, if it was _me_ who was the, ah, 'unfriendly observer', I'd say I'd be actively worried, actually. _Very_ worried, ha ha."

The room hushed again to listening level, though there were a few inaudible sounds of agreement. Ron grinned, sliding a freckled hand up to hide it. Encouraged, Crampton carried on.

"Mr. Malfoy here, well, he's tall and he's got the reputation for being, ah, _sharp_. And, ah, _fast_. Yes, so y'see, a shorter man like me, not as athletic, well, _I'd_ be afraid of his reflexes. Not a Seeker for nothing, you know! Ha ha! And he's rather, ah, er, rather _frightening_, as well, what with all that Dark Arts knowledge—"

There was a spot of a room-wide gasp at that remark, quickly shushed. One didn't say things of _that_ nature concerning Draco Malfoy and expect to get away with it scot-free; at least not after the gloriously positive and heartbreakingly _touching_ One Year Anniversary Celebration's 'Quiet Resistance' Speech Draco Malfoy had presented…and absolutely _not _since the well-played media event following, in which the Wizarding World's Most Beloved Hero, Harry Potter, had made it crystal-clear Draco Malfoy was his partner in _every_ respect.

"Though not to _us_, heh heh; of course not, right? Right? I meant for the Death Eaters, nasty bunch, and it's a good thing, really, as Mr. Malfoy's one of _us_."

Fortesque was clearly uncomfortable now and plainly backpedaling, but the various anxious eyes shifting to scan the faces of Aurors Potter and Malfoy, still ever so posed and poised at the ready in the front of the classroom, could discern no visible reaction whatsoever to the accountant's somewhat less than politic commentary. And it was not as though everyone in the room – well, nearly everyone – hadn't themselves trodden down that self-same path of negative thought once or twice before. Crampton was hardly to be blamed for voicing the musings they'd all been guilty of before Draco Malfoy's significant and necessary contributions to the war effort had been revealed - and lauded, even by the _Prophet_ - by all the popular press. Nowadays, one positively shuddered to consider where they'd all be without him! Besides, it was more than obvious poor, earnest Mr. Fortesque had meant no actual insult.

"And Mr. Potter, well, erm, he's the Boy Who Lived and all that," Fortesque finally continued, ahem-ing loudly and clearly of the mind that since he was in for a sickle, he was in for his full galleon's worth, "so he's got all that raw power rummaging about inside him and a proven track record with the disposing of evildoers and whatnot, and so _I, _at least_,_ erm, _I_ wouldn't hesitate to put forth here and now that any short-sighted fool of a blackguard wizard who's going to try heading up to that, er, ah, combined _force_, shall we call it? Eh? Malfoy and Potter, eh, well, they'd have to be demned brass-faced and, er, fairly lethally _stupid_."

"I see," Madame said softly, her coal-black eyes very wide indeed. "Tell me, Mr. Fortesque, if you were indeed one of those 'unfriendly' persons, would you be…afraid?"

"Ah, er, _yes!_ As a matter of fact, I would! I should think anyone would if they were in their right mind—_and_ if they were barmy, well, you know, more so!"

After a long moment, the inarticulate sounds of approval returned. The implication that there was a great deal of magical power and expertise 'on tap' and handily accessible to the 'right' persons – that is to say, the side of the 'Light', and thus, _their_ side - was indeed a very good thing. And, though that nice-but-awkward Mr. Crampton Fortesque might not be the best public speaker in town, he was certainly spot-on as _vox populi_ in this case, so no wonder then that the Accounting department had him pegged to move up to Section Chief for Muggle Import-Export Fees & Expenses in the coming months. No surprise at all, really. Good on him!

"Thank you, Mr. Fortesque. I believe you've made several valuable points." Madame scanned the room once more, choosing her next volunteer carefully. "Then, just one more opinion before we move on to the next stance, yes? As we _do_ have an agenda to follow this morning."

Arms shot upwards immediately, a little forest of participation. In the third row Blaize Zabini also raised one manicured paw, but only after an exceedingly brief whispered consultation with the little knot of his fellow Unspeakables. Madame, her eyes straying absentmindedly across the room, noticed very particularly that Hermione Grainger had not raised her hand once, an act that clearly went against the grain from all Anastasia knew of her, but then her brash young husband, Mr. Weasley the Sixth, was staring meaningful holes into the back of Grainger's curly head and grinning like a veritable monkey. No doubt there were bets laid, Madame concluded to herself and turned her attention to Zabini in the third row.

Intrigued, Madame ignored the Ambassador's dignified paisley sleeve yet again and chose Mr. Zabini purely on impulse. He was an odd young person, very pretty, very stylish, and perhaps unsuited entirely for his current role, but then again, no one had quite made the point Madame was hoping to have highlighted this morning. Perhaps an insider could clarify.

"Blaise, is it? If you would, then."

"Why, thank you, Madame. I must say, I think people are rather missing the point here."

Blaise winked discreetly in the direction of his old school mates and then threw a challenging glance 'round the hall. Eyebrows went up and Grainger grinned cheekily at her maroon-robed lap in a way oddly similar to her husband's. The 'point', indeed!

"Draco's left-handed, you see. There." And Blaise pointed to the wand flickering faintly in the grasp of long white fingers. Potter and Malfoy were still patiently playing Statues, easy-peasy for as long as you'd like, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had his assessing eyes on them every single second since the opening moments of the lecture, could not detect a single hint of ennui or lack of focus in the keen way the two Aurors remained so stylistically arranged, reminiscent of a wheel and an axle, perhaps, Kingsley mused, or even two perfectly described geometric forms, perfectly balanced on a level plane. Perfectly textbook, what? And not a smidgeon less than he'd expect of them.

"And Potter's _not_. Right-handed, all the way, that bloke. Right-brained, Harry is, if any of you are aware of the psychobabble rot that goes with that – but, no matter. Not important here."

Blaise tilted his dimpled chin in a challenging way, firmly reclaiming his point.

"So, I say, look at them! They've got the whole room covered between them, every entrance, floors and walls, even behind them, courtesy of my old chum, Mr. Malfoy. You'll see it if you'd all just bloody _look at them_."

As one, the two hundred odd people in the ATS lecture hall – Aurors, dignitaries, VIPs, students and the press – finally turned their full attention to the unwavering pair in pride of place, examining the hands and arms placed _just so_, the bends of elbows and knees _like that_, the steady levels of chins and shoulders, _see? Oh, yes!_; the exacting distances apart measured precisely in terms of wands and reach and torsos and twist and step.

"Oh!" exclaimed one of the cannier junior wannabes in the very back of the room, craning to get a better view. Madame pursed her lips charmingly, crow's eyes aglitter.

"I see…." Envoy Greensleeve nodded to himself, clearly pleased at all the higher-order cogitation going on in the Auror department. He felt safer already. Good show!

"Look, _there_!" Blaise exclaimed, pointing like a bird dog at Draco Malfoy, zeroing in. "All Draco has to do here is lean forward or backward; you know, barely shift his shoulders a tad and then he's got Harry covered coming _and_ going, _capiche_?"

With this Blaise Zabini leapt up from his seat in excitement, swaying his own nattily suited shoulders to-and-fro to show all these stodgy blighters who were blind and blinkered and obviously just plain out-of-touch what was going on about. A person could be forgiven for forgetting Mr. Zabini's hot-blooded Mediterranean ancestry in the unfailingly bland face of his usual Draconian _sangfroid_, but at this moment it was highly visible. He flushed; he gestured. He might as well have been wearing a velvet doublet and declaiming madly about those silly Capulets and fusty Montagues and their idiotic old quarrel.

Ron snickered; Hermione grinned. Kingsley forgot himself enough to send a tiny wink in the direction of his two most prized Aurors. Zabini just had that way about him.

"There! Draco's got Harry's back all the time, see? His front, too – all the time. _Every second_. And Harry. Look at him," Blaise commanded. "Use your eyes now; I know you have them. Harry can cover – _is covering_ – Draco with barely a budge over into that open space they've built there, with just one flick of his wand hand; he's got full range of movement and he hardly even has to turn his bleeding head! _And, _don't forget, right? Because these blokes are _serious_ Aurors – if they bring those killer wands of theirs any closer together, they're totally _unstoppable_ – there's no Death Eater alive out there that stands a bleeding chance! They'd be blasted to smithereens with any one of the Seeker's patented twinned curses and that's not even _counting_ whatever _other _shenanigans these two have perking that _we _normally wouldn't even _see!" _

Blaise dragged in an excited breath, coffee-tinted eyelids fluttering nearly closed, obviously and rapturously cranking his internal stop-action camera one frame further on, visualizing the Aurors' true intentions guised by yards of spell-dyed fabric, the protection therein as potent as any Invisibility cloak.

"And just think! That's not even _considering_ what they can do if they were in full uniform, with built-in Wards and Disillusionment and all the whiz-bangs active—don't you _follow_? It's a million leagues better than any schoolboy could _ever_ imagine! They're action-heroes, people – _action-heroes!_"

"Like dancers," the staff reporter from the _Quibbler_ chimed in, her voice high and light and unfettered as a helium balloon bumping aimlessly along the cloud-infested hall ceiling. "Or maybe Tibetan Origami Cranes. Very flexible, they are. Paired for life."

"Ye…es, thank you." Madam's voice broke through the very early wavelets of a rising hubbub, cutting it short with the precision of one long used to command.

"Ms. Lovegood, Mr. Zabini. Mr. Fortesque, Ms. Gambon. Thank you all; I do believe that among you you've unearthed the majority of the contributing factors for my choice of the Auror's Basic Constant Vigilance Stance Number One, also known as 'ABC123', as modified and demonstrated here by Misters Potter and Malfoy, for our first practicum in Magical Movement."

With a sincerely grateful smile and a tiny pattering of her well-kept hands, Madame swept around to face Malfoy and Potter.

"My dear sirs, thank you so very much for your continued kindnesses to our classroom this morning and do be at ease now while we discuss this in more exacting detail."

Dutifully, the AST hall was filled with a polite smattering of applause. Several of the less savvy of the SRO horde went so far as to hoot their approval, for Harry and Draco were the odds-on favorites of nearly everyone associated with Aurors, though perhaps Potter was just a smidgen more accessible. But Malfoy – well, Malfoy was _fit_.

With a brief nod to Madame, Malfoy subtly settled out of his strict attitude of watchfulness, his wand quietly stuffed back up his sleeve, but he remained standing in his station next to his partner, not shifting by so much as an inch. Potter himself gave a tiny shake, like a dog sloughing water, slid a lightning Slytherin grin in Blaise's general direction, smiled widely and sweet-as-pie at the _Quibbler's_ editor, and blinked slowly at Minister Shacklebolt, his trademark green eyes steady, but his rapid movements didn't budge him a farthing from where he had been standing for nearly twenty minutes, nor did he rock back on his heels or indulge in any of the other tiny things regular people surreptitiously do to relax in public after they've been moored to a specific physical point in space for an uncomfortably long period of time.

Very few members of the audience paid any further heed to the Aurors; they were once again enthralled by the tiny aristocratic Russian witch who had pushed and pulled and prodded them along to various previously unthought-of conclusions. Quills and Biros were already in motion, as the true students present remembered suddenly that note-taking was likely imperative. Madame Lady Ipswich was known to be strict.

"Now, students, one of the most obvious points here – one that I regret to say every one of our four participants has lamentably failed to mention – is that neither Mr. Potter nor Mr. Malfoy _moved_. Not one iota. In fact, there was a distinct _lack _of motion, as _I_ recall."

Madame smiled somewhat grimly.

"And, as this class and this part of the ATS Manual focuses on _movement_, and specifically the movement in or of _magical_ _casting_, the fact that I chose to commence with what is known to be a 'waiting' attitude – to be clear, a stance that unmistakably demonstrates _no _movement at all - is significant."

Once again Madame had issued one of her famous non-rebukes. Color ran high on visages young and old, wrinkled and fresh-faced, bleary and alert. Auror Hermione Grainger, in the midst of sharing a long, meaningful glance with her silvery-eyed compatriot Draco Malfoy, had the grace not to giggle aloud at the sibilant intake of somewhat humiliated breaths from the Wizarding crowd surrounding her seat…and as well she abstained from raising aloft her so-eager arm and signaling her willingness to eradicate her fellows' pronounced lack – that very arm Professor Snape (had he his druthers) would've cursed a thousand times over in bygone days had he not exercised considerable and gentlemanly restraint during Potions-oriented rants equally long past.

Indeed, the esteemed Professor – _and _Headmaster, now retired and Emeritus - had since progressed so far down the road of general bonhomie incurred by an ongoing lack of Voldemort to merely twitch his thin black brows in vague annoyance at the current lecture attendee's appalling and culpable lack of simple observational aptitude. Such fools were these, these young folk! What were they made of? But he had great faith in his besom friend, Anastasia Karkaroff. Natty – the dismal old bat - was more than capable of exploding these fools' faulty cauldrons, right up their bleeding noses!

Ron Weasley, safely hugging the rear wall but still fearful of drawing Snape's gimlet gaze in his direction, gamely swallowed down his incipient amused chuckle. The room's temperature had risen by several significant degrees as various persons who should've known better realized suddenly they had _not_ – and Madame, being Madame, was well aware of it. And damn and double-damn that berk Malfoy for actually _twinkling_ at him because of it! That was Dumbledore's trick, the fecking bastard! Ten points from Slytherin!

"'Why?' you ask?"

Madame raised her expressive brows and fluttered her equally mobile fingers, waxing rhetorical.

"Well, 'tis simple, dear students. Your willing minds filled in the blanks, or, as _you_ might term it, you've anticipated the prompts provided to the extent of producing multiple unrequested inches of wasted parchment. A veritable essay, I believe. _A storey_. But merely look and see, students. Accept what your eyes have informed you. These gentlemen, though manifestly immobile just moments ago, gave all of you a very strong impression of the actions that they could potentially take at any moment."

Madame inclined her well-coiffed head politely at the previous speakers in turn.

"Blaise and Luna, I do believe _your_ descriptions were the most thrilling. Estrellita, sadly, you limited yourself to the familiar, the _known_, and assumed that your 'known' was the same as the intended recipient's 'known'. However, you _were_ able to distil what our young fellows were actually doing, which was watching and being ready, or as the esteemed Auror Moody has referred to it, 'available and in a state of constant vigilance', although you did not specifically state it or indeed, raise the issue for discussion. And finally, Mr. Fortesque, I congratulate you on a marvelous job of capturing the potential energy these particular gentlemen radiate even at rest, and as well the apt term you've assigned it: 'the force'."

The crowd murmured sharply, quills and penpoints scratching away furiously at various surfaces and Madame took a quick moment to exchange a quick glance-and-grin with the Minister over the studiously bent heads of the gathered attendees. The old methods of teaching were sometimes the most effective, really, no matter what those new-fangled Muggle-influenced experts claimed.

"And _that_ is the precisely what these gentlemen have demonstrated for your benefit this morning: the _intent_ to move. Let me repeat: _the intent_. The moment _before_ action; the thought _before_ movement. You have all seen a Wizarding photograph before, yes? Well, this was one, frozen right before your very eyes, quite similar I believe to those Muggle ones, true? - and your collective minds have acted on that image, literally _forcing_ it to move despite the physical evidence. To put it bluntly, you were the victims of an Imperius…or perhaps, willing participants in a controlled instance of mass hallucination."

The Hall was shocked, with few exceptions. Air rushed into nostrils, was expelled forcefully through gaping mouths, huffed, like the lingering smoke of some rare burnt herb. Ink ceased to flow as young Aurors, observers and seasoned Ministry professionals collectively jaw-dropped and face-palmed, aghast at the touché. Imperturbably, Madame carried on, as was her wont. No one had ever dared maintain that Anastasia Karkaroff Ipswich was not capable of grabbing the entirety of an audience's attention.

"And remember, students, as Mr. Fortesque mentioned, any 'unfriendly observer' would be doing just the same, _especially_ if they were 'barmy', and would be thus be scrambling in a state of some confusion to counter. Their loss – that moment of indecision, when all guards are dropped – _that_ is the Auror's _win_. _Our_ win."

A veritable storm of half-way hushed discussion arose; people turned to the people next to them, exclaiming, chattering, gesticulating. At the very back of the room the tall red-headed Auror quietly put one hand up, his freckled face far more composed than it had been but a moment previously. Madame immediately acknowledged him.

"Ah? Auror Weasley? You have something to contribute?"

Madame's voice rang out over the din, instantly quelling it. A roomful of participants willingly gave their ears to yet another celebrated Seeker Auror. On the tiny dais in the front of the room Potter and Malfoy serenely awaited events, their positions little changed from the actual demonstration.

"Yes, thank you, er, Madame." Ron bobbed his flaming ginger do, feeling that some sort of attempt at a half-arsed bow was mandatory, at least for Madame. "I was, ah, just going to point out that um, Seekers Potter and um, Malfoy can also be compared to chess pieces, if, say, one was thinking about strategy."

"Do go on, Auror Weasley." Madame's winged brows were clearly interested. Ron, who'd gained a fair amount of experience these last few years with public oration, swallowed and manfully continued.

"Well, Draco, there, he's set up so he can go in nearly any direction he wants to and pretty much mow the opposition down while still covering his partner. Blaise was dead-on when he said that."

The young man in question looked suitably pleased, one saturnine brow cocked at a decidedly familiar Slytherin angle.

"And as for Harry," Weasley continued, "even though as you can see he's in a slightly less advantageous position – what with, y'know, staring straight at us like that, wide-open – he's got the leverage of Draco's dedicated protection as a huge plus in his favor, and _that_ gives him enough odds to concentrate all his energy on the offense."

Auror Weasley's carrying tone dropped a decibel or two, giving the distinct impression he was now to impart something rather confidential. A mass of people instinctively edged forward on their chairs, quills at the ready.

"You see, in a real-life situation, it's both the power and the flexibility that are crucial. You need 'em both on your side or you're sunk. And these two, ah, _gentlemen_ here are really strong pieces – the best, individually, on the board, or at least when you think of them in terms of Wizarding Chess, so, if, you, er, put them together like that, well…they add up to a very potent combination – the kind that consistently saves lives. At least for _us_, in the Seekers."

Madame nodded happily, pleased for dear Molly. And young Weasley too, of course.

"Thank you, Auror Weasley, for that excellent analogy. You're saying, then, that this particular starting stance allows for a core Auror team to function with very little additional support, yes? It is _that _efficient?"

"Absolutely," Ron nodded back, pleased as well but still totally focused on the point he was making. "It's been demonstrated enough times and in enough different sticky situations so that we _know_ it works, and consistently, so of course we Seekers use it for a model. All of us use it now for tactical maneuvers and I think maybe other groups use it too, since Harry and Draco are so, ah, um, _popular_. Um."

"Again, thank you so very much, Auror Weasley. That really was a wonderfully concise summation of applied magical motive for our students! Truly, I couldn't have put it better myself!"

"Why, er, ah, thank _you_, Madame! My pleasure! Yeah!"

Ron finally blushed his trademark scarlet, feeling rather tremendously proud of himself. Madame Ipswich was a tough old bird – a real stickler with a poker up her bum the size of the Chunnel – and normally he wouldn't have had snowman's chance in Hades to impress her, much less address her before a whole bleeding horde without fumbling. Not even Hermione got much more than Madame's usual toffee-nosed pleasantries on a good day, even if Madame did generally keep her Russian temper on a tight leash in public. So, hey, a solid twenty points to him and the Griffs, then. The Seekers, too, since not one of 'em had arsed this Punch-and-Judy up yet. He'd settle with Draco later. Doing well, doing _well_.

Oh, right.

"One more thing, Madame. I, um, forgot." At Madame's nod, Ron went on.

"Essie – sorry, _Ms. Gambon_ – well, she mentioned that what Harry and Draco were doing up there – they're kinda still doing it, um, see? – well, she said it was just a really 'basic' Auror stance that all the new trainees learn very early on in training. And that's totally true."

"Yes?"

"Well, the thing is, see, Harry and Malfoy _invented_ it, that's all. From scratch – er, from the get-go, right? They always stand around like that, like they're ready for _anything_. Like nothing you could throw at them would faze 'em. And they've been doing this for years and _years_, maybe even back before Vold-um-You-Know-Who was defeated – it just took the rest of us Aurors some time to catch on. Why it works, you know? So, ah, you might want to add that intel when you write up the new section, Madame. Like, um, Muggle 'trivia', right? Factoids. Makes it more interesting. Um, _personal_."

In the front row Ms. Grainger could hold it back no longer; she giggled outright. Ron owed her a tidy sum now _and_ the Slytherins five extra points for forgetting background knowledge_ and_ top it off dear Harry was just being too adorable for words right this very minute, inching over like that towards Malfoy. And Draco! He was actually _blushing_!

_Ohhh! _gasped the room and turned avidly back to Misters Potter and Malfoy in an excited flurry. The little wannabees were buzzing with excitement; the Quik Quills were practically sizzling across smoking parchment. Rita Skeeter was up from her chair and barking out questions exactly as she used to in her heyday. Harry Potter finally took a definitive step in the direction of his long-time partner, a handsome hue feathering his tanned, scarred face.

And Draco Malfoy, well, _the_ Mr. Malfoy was openly grinning - boyishly, or perhaps instead rather like the proverbial ticking crocodile – at his fellow Seeker team member and old schoolmate, Ronald Weasley. Shockingly enough, though, at least for_ this_ crowd, he followed that startling personable effort up with an exaggerated wink, one that wouldn't have been out-of-place in an old-timey Muggle music hall, and a jaunty invisible-top-hat-tipping little bow, without a doubt mugging it for his now newly-entranced two-hundred odd coterie of Malfoy-fans. This unexpected movement on his part jogged him sideways just enough so that his fellow unit member – a still faintly pink Harry Potter, 'Seeker Auror of Legend' – ended up practically rammed against Malfoy's ribcage. With fluid grace Malfoy continued the crabwise motion, nonchalantly slipping an affectionate arm around Potter, and invisibly easing them both toward the spell-enhanced steel exit door Minister Shacklebolt still guarded.

_Charming!_ shrieked the sudden rush of adolescent hormones awash through the pool of adults attending. _Oh, that Malfoy boy – so debonair! Like his father in the good old days! Oh, and Harry Potter – so smashingly fit – and shy with it!_

_Our heroes! s_warmed and chittered the wannabes and the shockingly cynical bright young things. The natter-level rose like the tide at full moon's light, resident marsh birds all atwitter.

_Admirable!_ murmured those who held some measure of power within and without the walls of the Ministry. Even staid Mr. Fortesque seemed happily affected, bouncing on his toes at the sheer deliciousness of it all. The Ambassador fanned himself rapidly with his syllabus. Several of the bright young things felt decidedly faint with hormones and several more emitted unbecoming little yips at the smell of fresh meat. The number of _Quibblers_ and _Daily Prophets_ sold would positively soar with this evening's editions. Pity there'd be no pictures, as Wizarding photographs were not allowed to be taken during the course of Auror-related training. And that was strictly enforced, AST orders, no exceptions. Still, several of the more sapient of the SRO were busily sketching the scene as they remembered it…for sharing later with mates, of course. Not to sell, or anything.

"A-_hem_!"

Madame, as always, commanded audiences, large and small. She had no real trouble with this one, especially as the heroes of the morning had already exited under the careful wing of a whitely-grinning Minister Shacklebolt. Dear boys – so nice of them to lend their services. She'd be sure to put in a good word for them later.

The students and visitors quieted, as they did, generally, when Madame had that certain look in her eye.

"Yes. Thank you. Now, for your take-home work you'll be penning a two- foot brief essay on the history of magical movement, with proper citations, due tomorrow. Please see your syllabus for all the specifics."

_Ahhh! Noooo!_

Snape smiled, though not as charmingly as arguably the most brilliant of his former Hogwarts students, one Draco Malfoy, Auror Seeker of alarmingly high repute.

"Class dismissed!"

(Possibly TBC. We'll see. In any case, thank you all for the great comments on the others! You make me very happy:)


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